


Eat

by AmaranthPrincess21



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, TW anorexia, tw body image issues, tw eating disorders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-02-07 13:39:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaranthPrincess21/pseuds/AmaranthPrincess21
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You're having a bad day and problems returning home after school, so Marco offers you a ride home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat

The rain felt like little weights falling from the sky as you walked home after school. It was only four-thirty, but the lampposts were already lit, their gold light lighting the way as you trudged to your home. You didn’t live close to your high school, and you knew it was going to be a long, wet walk home. You hadn’t even been walking for five minutes and you were already soaked head to toe. Like someone had pushed you into a pool. _Stupid weatherman, saying it wasn’t going to rain today,_ you complained, crossing your arms in front of your chest. _Thirty percent chance of rain, my ass._

Shivering, you tugged at your sweatshirt, trying to cuddle into it more. You wished you lived somewhere were there was warm rain. But no, you lived in Trost, where the rainy weather was harsh and cold. You didn’t exactly mind the dark grey sky above you, though. You just hated how cold the rain was. And how mud-strewn the streets were. Your stomach growled loudly, hunger gnawing at your nerves. You had to stop for a moment, clutching your stomach and wincing. You hadn’t eaten breakfast. Or lunch. It wasn’t like it was a rare occurrence; you did that everyday, but for some reason your body protested at your skipping of meals. You didn’t understand it. 

_My body should be used to this by now,_ you thought as the pain subsided, and you were able to stand up straight again. A car came speeding by you, running into a puddle and sending the mucky street water onto you. 

“Oh, _COME ON!”_ you yelled at the car, waving a fist in the air. Sighing, you hurried your pace, eager to get home. All you wanted was some warm clothes and the small salad you were saving for your daily meal. Looking down, you grimaced at your wet, dirty, disgusting clothes. _This could not get any worse,_ you told yourself. 

And that’s when his car pulled up next to you. 

“[First]? What are you doing out here? Don’t you have a ride home?” a familiar voice asked you. Fighting the urge to run, you turned to face your crush, the gorgeous Marco Bott. He was leaning towards you, his large brown eyes full of concern. You had home ec with him, and you had been a stats girl when he was on the football team. You thoroughly enjoyed hanging out with him; he was the sweetest guy you knew, but you were always nervous about embarrassing yourself in front of him. 

"Hey, Marco. No, I don't have a ride home." 

"I can give you a lift. You shouldn't be out in this kind of weather. You'll get sick." 

"No, I-It's fine. I live on the outskirts of town. I don't want you to drive all that way just to drop me off," you assured him, cursing at yourself silently as you felt your cheeks turn pink. 

"Really, I don't mind! I don't want you to walk all that way in the rain!" His wide smile told you he wasn't picking up on your nervousness. 

"I . . . Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" you asked. 

"Not at all!" he beamed at you. "Here, I'll pop the trunk so you can put your backpack back there." He leaned back, sitting normally in the driver's seat. You heard a click and saw the trunk of the car open. You quickly placed your bag next to his, shut the trunk door, and joined him in the car. He waited for you to put your seat belt on before pulling back onto the road.

"Thank you so much, Marco," you said as you surveyed the interior of the car. It was comfy. Very comfy. And a lot cleaner than you expected it to be. There were a few loose receipts on the floor, but other than that it was spick and span. "I can pay for gas, if you like."

"No. Don't worry about it," he waved your offer away. “So, where am I heading?”

“Do you know the subdivision that Eren and Mikasa live in? Near the southern edge of town?”

“Yeah, I’ve been there a few times. Head there?”

“Yeah.” The two of you fell into an odd silence. You weren’t entirely uncomfortable with it, but you wanted to say something. Who knew the next time you’d have alone time with him? You wracked your brain for conversation ideas, but as every idea came up you shot it down, deeming it too silly or too serious. 

“Er, if you get too hot or too cold, you can just go ahead and turn the temperature up or down. Or turn the radio on. Or whatever,” he let you know.

“I’m good right now, thanks,” you said. It was warm and dry in his car; you couldn’t complain even if you wanted to. 

“Can I ask you a question, [First]?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead,” you replied quietly, putting your hands on your stomach. It was hurting again, begging for food.

“How come you don’t have a ride home today? I mean, I don’t mind driving you home at all, it’s not like that!” he added, reassuringly and hurriedly. “It’s just, I always notice you getting into different cars after school. You always seem to have a ride. What happened today?” 

“Eren has wrestling practice today and Mikasa has gymnastics, so I couldn’t carpool with them today,” you explained. 

“What about your parents?” he asked, voice cautious. 

“They work until late,” you replied tersely. Your face turned bright red as your stomach made growling sounds. “Sorry. I’m just a bit hungry, I guess.” you apologized nervously.

“I think I have some cookies in the glove box, you can help yourself,” he offered. “Or we could stop somewhere and get food.”

“No!” you said hurriedly. He gave you an odd look. “I . . . Marco, it’s fine. I’ll just eat when I get home. But thanks for the offer,” you told him.

“Are you sure? They’re chocolate chip,” he tempted you. You were starving, and his offer sounded wonderful. _Have some self control, Jesus,_ you told yourself harshly. _No sweets. If you have a cookie, you can’t eat tomorrow. That’s the rule._

“No thanks, but the offer means a lot,” you told him. 

The two of you were silent for the rest of the ride, listening to the rain striking Marco’s car. You wished you could talk to him, but you had no idea what to talk about. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself even more in front of him. And besides, all you could think was the half of the salad waiting for you at home. Guilt punched you in the face as you hungrily thought about how delicious that handful of lettuce was going to taste. _Stop thinking about food, you fat pig._ a voice in your head told you sternly. _You don’t need the extra calories. You shouldn’t even be eating. You’ve been doing this for what, a year now? And you haven’t even lost any weight. You shouldn’t be having that salad, God knows you don’t need it._

“[First]? Are you okay?” you heard Marco ask. You realized a few tears had escaped your [e/c] eyes. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” you told him, wiping them away on your oversized black hoodie.

“I-I realize we don’t know each other super well, but I want you to know you can talk to me about anything. I won’t judge you and I’ll do my best to help you, I promise,” he said, a pink flush painting the space between his freckles. Not that you saw. Your eyes were trained on your shoes, simply listening to his voice.

“Thank you,” you replied simply, the sharp pain in your stomach overtaking the brief fluttering in your heart. 

It was raining heavily by the time he pulled up to your house. You quietly thanking him, eager to get inside and eat your handful of lettuce. You tried to pay Marco for gas, but he refused any payment. _Always the gentleman._

“I’ll stay out here and make sure you get inside all right,” he said as he unlocked the door, letting you go out into the rain and retrieve your backpack from his trunk. You gave him a weak smile and a half wave before turning your back to him, walking up your driveway and up the porch steps. You reached into the potted plant by the door, removing the fake rock where a house key was hidden. Your mother had lost her keys this morning and had taken yours. But there was no key inside the rock, only a few five dollar bills and note from your dad, by the looks of the hurried handwriting. 

  
  
[First], sorry but I had to take the extra key. Mine broke this morning. Here’s some money, go buy yourself something nice. Love, Dad. 

  
  
_Oh, for the love of_ GOD! you internally screamed, pounding your fists on the door. Hot tears were springing up. _WHY ME? WHY TODAY?_

“[First]!” you heard Marco yell from his car. “Is everything all right?!” Quickly wiping back tears, you turned to face his car. 

“It’s fine, Marco!” you shouted back. “Go ahead and head home! I’m all good!”

“Then why aren’t you going inside?!” he shouted back. 

“I don’t have a key to my house, but that’s okay, I can just chill on the porch until my parents get home!” you yelled. To your surprise, he turned his car off and got out. He ran to you, joining you under your porch’s overhang. “You don’t have to join me out here. I’m fine. Go home and rest,” you told him, your face turning a light pink.

“You’re going to get sick if you stay out here all day,” he said, brown eyes full of concern. “I-I . . . we could get something to eat, or hang out at my place, or something. So you’re not sitting in the cold. If you want to, of course! I think it’d be a lot of fun . . .” his voice trailed off as he rubbed the back of his neck, his face turning a pink shade to match yours. Your heart rate skyrocketed at the thought of spending some quality time with Marco. 

“I’d like that,” you said with a small smile before the domineering part of your brain could protest. 

*Twenty Minutes Later*

“You sure you’d rather hang out here instead of going somewhere to get a bite to eat?” Marco asked you as he unlocked his front door, opening the door for you and gesturing for you to enter first. “You can just put your backpack and shoes by the umbrella stand.”

“Yeah. Thanks again for letting me come over, Marco,” you told him gratefully, putting your backpack down and slipping off your tennis shoes. 

“It’s no problem, [First],” he replied genially, placing his backpack next to yours and taking his shoes off. “So, uh, I got some video games, if you’re into that. Or we could watch TV or some movies. Oh!” He snapped his fingers, his face lighting up. “Do you like cake?” 

“Y-yeah,” you replied. _You like it too much, pig,_ the voice in your head sneered at you. 

“My mom bought a new dessert cook book. We could bake a cake,” he suggested cheerfully. His face fell as you shrugged, looking off to the side. 

“I dunno. I’m not that hungry,” you said. Your stomach decided that was the best time to howl for food. “No, really. I’m fine,” you weakly laughed it off. 

“[First], I don’t want to push any buttons, and I’m sorry if I do. But I’ve never seen you eat.” His voice was overflowing with concern. “In home ec you always give your food to Sasha. And after football games when we all went out to eat I never saw you order more than lemonade. When’s the last time you ate?” 

“I, uh . . .” you stalled, not sure how to answer him. _Tell him the truth,_ the voice in your head commanded you. _One meal a day is something to be proud of, it shows you have self-control._ “Yesterday, at three-fifteen.” But the voice misjudged Marco’s reaction. He didn’t look impressed; he looked devastated. 

“[First], that’s really unhealthy,” he said softly, his hand resting itself on your shoulder. “You need to eat.”

“No, it’s fine,” you argued, weakly waving away his concern. It stung to see him look that upset.

“No, it’s not. You can’t just eat one meal a day, that’s not healthy,” he protested.

“Well, I’m losing weight aren’t I?” you half fought, half genuinely asked him. “One meal a day means less calories to make me even fatter than I already am.” You knew as soon as the blurted words left your mouth that it was not the right thing to say. Marco’s face went from complete devastation to completely heartbroken. 

“You’re not fat,” he told you, dark chocolate eyes gentle with a sadness you had never seen in anyone’s eyes before. The look tore your heart in two, guilt filling in the gap between the halves. _Why did I have to open my big mouth?_ you asked yourself as he put his other hand on your other shoulder, looking you dead in the eyes. “[First], you don’t need to lose any weight. You have a great body. Not that I’ve _looked,_ of course, that’d cross a line,” he added hurriedly, red flaring across his face. “But I . . . I think you’re beautiful the way you are.”

“You’re just saying that,” you said. Part of you wanted to believe he was telling you the truth, but the voice in your head told you he was lying.

“No, I’m not!” he exclaimed. “You’re absolutely stunning the way you are. I can’t . . . [First],” his voice cracked. “if you really want to lose weight, I’ll train with you! But please, don’t starve yourself because you think you're fat! You’re only hurting yourself, and the people who love you. I don’t want to see you waste away into nothing. Please.” His hands slid down your arms and grabbed your hands. “Stop starving yourself. Eat something. Please.” You had to look away from him; the pain in his eyes was too much for you. 

“I need to lose weight,” you said sternly.

“Then I’ll work out with you! I’ll cook you healthy and low-calorie meals! But please, don’t starve yourself! Or throw up your food. Please, I’m begging you, stop this.” 

“I can’t just stop,” you quietly protested.

“Then I’ll help you make baby steps!” he said, drawing you closer to him. “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you quit this.”

“Marco . . .” 

“I’m not going to stand by and watch as you deprive yourself and waste away! If you don’t stop you’re going to die! I will do absolutely _anything_ to make you stop! Please, let me help you through this! I don’t want you to keep hurting yourself like this.” he begged you. You squeezed his hands, looking at how much bigger his hands were than yours. _If he didn’t care, he would have let me walk home. He would have let me sit on my porch until Mom and Dad came home. If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t be having this conversation with me._

_Maybe he’s right._

“I-I, I’ll try.” The words slipped out of your mouth. He breathed a sigh of relief, engulfing you in a tight embrace. With your ear pressed against his chest, you could hear his heart going a mile a minute. _Is he that worried?_ you asked yourself.

“[First]. . .” was all he could managed to say as he held you close. Your stomach acted up again, crying out for food. You nervously laughed, still uncomfortable with him hearing your rumbling tummy. 

“So, um, what’s for lunch?” you awkwardly joked. 

“Anything you want,” he said eagerly, eyes shining with . . . love? _Is that love?_

And although the voice in your head was protesting, you drowned it out, looking into Marco’s adoring face, and smiled meekly at him. It was high time you had something good to eat. “I think I’ll take you up on the cake offer.”


End file.
